


Start Again

by wkemeup



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, a very slight dom!steve, also a little angsty, dub/con due to sex pollen though its made pretty clear that its still wanted, perceived sexual assault, we getting hot and wet up in here, yall this is my first time writing sex pollen so be kind and done shame me!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25667875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wkemeup/pseuds/wkemeup
Summary: A chemical spill, uncontrollable desires rushed to the surface, an unbridled need, and the consequences in the aftermath.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 20
Kudos: 267





	1. Chapter 1

“Rogers! Watch your six, dammit!” you shouted, hair whipping into your face as you lunged at a stray opponent aiming a gun directly at the back of Steve’s head. Roundhouse kick to his hand and the weapon flung halfway across the room; another blow to the man’s temple and then, he collapsed to the ground in a heavy thud.

“That’s what I have you for, isn’t it?” Steve chuckled from the doorway, turning back with a smirk over his shoulder as he nudged his way into the vault with the edge of his shield. All confidence and charisma and still, his ears were a little pink, his eyes flickering down at the floor by your feet when he held your gaze a moment too long. A hesitancy in his teasing. A sincerity nestled in pale blue eyes.

You chewed on the edge of your lip, unbothered by the coppery taste left behind by the hit of a Hydra agent unconscious at your feet, and you side stepped your way into the vault. Steve stood with his arm extended, gesturing you to lead the way, smile creeping up the left side of his mouth before he followed behind.

This was how things were between the two of you. Flirty banter. Quiet moments. Poking at the tension in the air with the blunt edge of a knife. Careful, but still pressing. Lingering. Waiting in agony until the moment it snapped.

“What is this place?” you asked, covering your nose with the crook of your elbow as a lingering burning sensation filled the air.

The walls were lined with chemicals placed neatly in organized vials, within enclosed glass tubes, and refrigerated syringes. Beautiful bright colors to dull, dreary shades, big and small, carefully sealed, with hazmat suits hanging from the rack at the corner of the room. At the center sat a single metal table with restraints hanging down off the sides.

You stepped closer to it, carefully examining the cuffs made of leather where it cracked along the outside from years of use. You shuddered to think of the men they laid strapped on this cold unforgiving surface, injecting god knows what into their veins.

“This is sick,” you exhaled, dropping the restraint and watching as it swung over the edge of the table.

“It’s Hydra,” Steve replied tensely. “Whatever they have in here, it can’t be good. Let’s just get what we came for and get the hell out.”

You nodded, walking closer to the shelves in search of the small vial Dr. Cho described. Blue in color, almost translucent, a liquid of only a few milliliters in total. If you were lucky it would be labeled NR-829. You didn’t know what it was for, but you weren’t one to ask questions. Steve went along with the mission without hesitation and you followed his lead. You trusted Steve enough for that.

It took a while as you filtered through dozens of unknown chemicals until you found the vial. Tucked in the back of the shelf, hidden behind a series of test tubes and a particularly large glass bottle with a large ‘X’ scribbled in black marker over the cap, the light blue serum sat in wait. You grinned, gently pulling the tube from its stand and holding it up for Steve to see.

“This is why I keep you around,” Steve teased, a sigh of relief etched into his tone.

“Thought you needed me to watch your six, huh?”

“That, too.”

Steve hung his head with a smile so wide on his face it made your stomach twist into knots. Hands planted firmly on his hips, stealing careful glances up at you from under long, thick lashes, you couldn’t help but admire the tenderness he carried. Even under pounds of muscle, a super soldier’s strength running through his veins, and the weight of the world on his shoulders, he still managed to carry an innocence, a lightness, and he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.

“We should go,” Steve said after a moment and you nodded quickly, hoping he didn’t notice your staring.

You were just about to place the vial into the small pouch at the edge of your hip when a movement at the edge of the vault froze you dead in your tracks.

A flicker of metallic.

The click of the safety unlatching.

The grunt of a man in vengeance.

Laying on the floor, mouth covered in blood as it drenched down from his broken nose, the man you’d rendered unconscious now aimed a gun in your direction; a sickening grin pealed up along his cheeks to reveal yellowed teeth soaked in red.

Steve’s arm jutted out in front of you, yanking your body quickly out of the line of fire, but the man only smirked. He didn’t attempt to follow in his aim. Instead, he narrowed in on something beyond your position. Something on the shelves.

The gunshot rang out, echoing painfully within the small confines of the vault enough for a violent ringing to pierce in your ears, and still, you heard the glass shatter.

The air filled with the sudden sweet smell of candied apples and caramel; a scent specific to the night Steve dragged you out to Coney Island in efforts to relive his old memories, when you’d spent nearly half the night sitting on the docks prying sticky caramel from your fingers and laughing until your stomach hurt. The way he’d looked at you that night, like maybe all these feelings stirring deep in your chest might not be unrequited, how he’d smiled just enough until it pressed dimples to his cheeks.

No ordinary chemical could produce a smell like that. Not something so specific. Nothing but—

_“Oh God.”_

Steve was at the doors to the vault, desperately trying to pry his shield between them as the chemical spill must have set off emergency protocols and sealed you inside, but it was no use. He let out a visceral groan as he used all of his force, and still nothing.

“Steve,” you crocked, already feeling the sweat dripping at the nape of your neck. Your eyes glanced back at the emerald green liquid fizzling on the cement floor. The smell was intoxicating, burning almost to the point where it physically ached, and you closed your hands tight into fists.

“What is that?” Steve grunted, finally turning away from the doors. He brushed at his nose, confused, as tried to find the source. “It… it smells like… coffee and—and cinnamon sugar.”

 _The bakery down the block from the tower._ Where you’d taken Steve in the early hours of the mornings when he’d find himself standing in the doorframe of your bedroom, shame lingering in his features and a redness in his eyes. It was a safe haven. An escape. The smell of a pleasant memory.

You’d heard that this chemical had the ability to manifest individually to those it effected, but it still took you by surprise. Drawn on the desires of its host, different to each in its unrelenting path. There was no time to wonder what it meant, why it smelled like the bakery around the corner and the nights you spent with Steve when the nightmares woke him in a blinding panic. There was no time because your eyes kept flickering down the lines of Steve’s body, tracing him hungrily, like a woman starved.

You choked back a moan, squeezing your thighs together as a sudden all-encompassing emptiness tore through you.

“Steve, listen to me,” you tried again, voice a little dry as you stretched your neck away from the collar of your suit, tearing your stare from his body as you focused on the wall in front of you. You zipped down the edge of your suit to your sternum and it only provided an ounce of relief. You were suffocating under it, _burning_ , and you swore if you didn’t get it off soon you might collapse.

Steve didn’t seem to hear you though as he walked towards the exposed chemical on the floor, examining it. “Why expose us to this chemical instead of just killing us? What’s the point? What the hell is this stuff anyway?”

Your legs were crossed at the ankles, thighs pressing tightly together in an effort to relieve some of the ache at your core, but it did nothing. Not when you knew what you needed. Not when he was standing right there.

“ _Steve, please,_ ” you whined, close to tears, hands gripping tight at the edges of the metal table.

Steve whipped around at the sound of your voice, panicked by the urgency, the desperation in it. His shoulder tensed, eyes darting wide at the sight of you.

The chemical had taken its effect quickly. Your hairline was drenched in sweat, heart pounding so painful in your chest you were certain he could hear it across the room, but what surprised him most was the slight tang in the air, a sweet kind of smell that was only and entirely yours; one he only dared allow himself to notice once before, under the cover of night when he’d walked past your bedroom in and heard the soft whimpers beyond the door.

Your legs were shaking under you, ready to collapse, and Steve darted forward. His hand gripped at your waist, trying to hold you steady.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he cooed sweetly, though there was a panic in his voice as he turned to look back at the sealed exit. He exhaled a heavy breath, pulling you in closer. “I’ve got you. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

The pressure of his hands was unlike anything you’d ever felt. It was exhilarating, like the touch of lightening to your skin and still, feather soft. It was a jolt of desperation that only worsened the pulsing at your core, the agonizing emptiness you felt between your legs.

You whimpered, shaking terribly in his arms, and then, his hands moved slowly up along your body to cup at your cheeks. He pushed away the damp hairs on your face, sky blue eyes searching yours, trying to understand what was affecting you like this, so concerned, so full of worry, but it was too much.

Your skin was too sensitive; every touch heightened beyond what you’d ever experienced and each rub of his thumb over your cheek bone, each pressured dip of his fingers against your neck, was almost unbearable. Your cunt clenched around air, waiting eagerly to be filled and used and — _fuc_ k — you were going to die if you didn’t get that damn suit off _now._

“Y/n?” Steve called, though it sounded far away, like a lingering semblance of an echo long carried through a tunnel.

Unable to take it, you tore Steve’s hands away from you, stumbling back until you hit the table with a painful corner to your spine. You whined, shaking, whimpering, and as Steve tried to take another step closer to you, you held up a desperate hand.

“It’s not effecting you as quickly because—because of the serum,” you gasped, trying to find your breath as a hand slipped under your collar, pushing down at the zipper on your suit in search of relief, “but it will. _It will,_ Steve, and we—we have to—God, we’ll die if we don’t, but—”

“What are you talking about? What’s happening to you?” Steve demanded, trying to step closer to you, to reach out in comfort, but you flinched away. You still had some semblance of control, even if your dignity was in pieces. You wouldn’t dare let him touch you again until he understood what this was, until he could have some kind of choice.

“The chemical,” you shuddered, pointing to the shattered vial on the floor, “it’s the extract of the pollen Tony warned us about in Brussels.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. Brussels was almost three years ago but he remembered it well. They’d been tasked with infiltrating a Hydra base attempting to create an army of enhanced super soldiers by pairing the gifted with their knock off experiments. Creating offspring artificially wasn’t an option, it seemed, and well, Hydra needed to convince their participants to engage.

Realization hit Steve like a truck and he stumbled back, eyes wide. “N-No, it’s can’t be. That stuff should have been destroyed when we blew up the base…”

“Should have been,” you repeated, nodding slowly as you shrugged your shoulder out of the suit. The cool air touched your skin and it was instant relief. Teeth clenched, lump in your throat, you looked at Steve. “We don’t have a lot of time. I—I have to get this off. I feel like I’m burning alive…”

“Okay, okay,” Steve nodded, rushing towards you to help. You choked back a whine as his fingers touched over bare skin, slipping under your suit as he helped peel away the skin tight fabric until it dropped down over your thighs and was left in a pile on the floor.

Left only in your sports bra and panties, Steve started to evert his eyes, even as his breathing started to pick up in pace. It was affecting him slower than it did you, but it was still in his veins, it was still coming for him.

“Steve,” you gasped, your hands fumbling with the band of your bra, trying to pull it over your head. Your nipples were pebbled hard, the touch of the fabric agonizing against the buds. Your thighs squeezed tight together and you could feel how soaked through the thin cotton between your legs had become. You could smell it yourself, so you knew Steve could, too.

“Steve, please. I—I need you. It hurts so much…”

Steve swallowed, eyes gazing up at your body as you stripped clean of the remaining material. He tried desperately to hold your eye, but as your hand slipped down between your legs in search of some relief, he followed.

Your fingers dipped in between the folds, swirling in the wetness that dripped down your thighs, and even as you circled in rushed movements, sunk two fingers deep inside you, it did nothing to relieve the ache. It couldn’t be relieved on its own, not without help.

In a surge of pollen-induced confidence, you carefully reached out for Steve’s hand, letting your fingers hook around his as hooded eyes gazed up to a startling pale blue and the bite of teeth over pink, swollen lips. Slowly, you guided Steve’s hand closer to your core and when you were met with no resistance, replaced your fingers with his own, pushing his touch to the heat between your legs.

He shuddered as the wetness dripped over him, fingers moving of their own accord and circling sweetly at your clit. It was like fire through your veins, rendering you outside of yourself, and still, you needed more.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” Steve whispered, running a free hand through your hair, but you could only whine in response, resting your forehead to his shoulder.

Hands curled into the thick fabric of his suit, dipping into the muscle in his arms as you tried to focus on the pressure on your clit, how his fingers swirled and circled and pressed and flicked at the sensitive bundle of nerves, but that emptiness lingered. It screamed at you, tore through your body and consumed you, begging to be filled, to be abused and used.

“More,” you begged, too far lost to the effects of the pollen to feel shame for the tremors in your voice or the neediness with which you rolled your hips to his fingers. “Please, Steve. I—I can’t. I need—”

“Okay, I’ve got you,” he said quickly, a softness in his tone as he helped ease you up onto the metal table. It was cold against your exposed skin, though it supplied no relief to the fever lighting like flames within your veins.

You called his name again, a desperate cry, and Steve gently ran his hands down your curves, slipping over your hips and thighs and gently returning to where you needed him. It was like he was trying to hold onto some kind of semblance of romance or affection amongst the intensity of the pollen igniting dangerous levels of dopamine and oxytocin in your brain; like maybe he could fool himself into believing it was real.

“It’s okay. I’m here, sweetheart. Just try to relax for me,” he whispered, sinking two fingers into you, and then a third. It was relief unlike anything else. The slight sting of the stretch, the rub of his knuckles by your entrance, the curving of his fingers deep inside your walls, pressing up against the spot that made your back arch up from the table.

“Fuck, Steve,” you gasped, eyes closed, overwhelmed in the sensations, in the pumping of his fingers and his thumb circling at your clit, the high that started to take over completely and render you in a mess on the table, open and exposed. “Yes! _Ah_ —don't—don’t stop!”

Even through your haze, you felt the slight touch of his lips on your forehead. Something so tender, so soft, in stark contrast to the heat of the pollen’s chemical amplifying your senses.

“That’s it,” Steve urged, his breath warm on your skin as your walls began to clench around him. Tighter. Tighter. He pumped his fingers faster, the sounds filling the room enough to draw heat to your face if it wasn’t for the heightened bliss produced by the pollen.

You rolled your hips against his hand, meeting him at his knuckles, begging for more.

_More, more, more—_

“Let go, doll,” Steve whispered against your ear, breath hot to your skin, “come for me.”

Closer and closer and rising to the very edge of the peak and— _nothing._

You whined, a sob breaking through you as the crescendo faded out just before the highest note. Your body collapsed, sinking into hardened metal, exhausted, desperate, aching.

“What is it? What happened?” Steve questioned, panicked.

“It’s not enough,” you gasped. “I need _you_.”

Steve froze, slowly pulling his fingers from between your legs to find them dripping in your wetness. He closed his hand. “Y/n, I—”

“I need you to fuck me, Steve.”

He shook his head, backing up. “You don’t– You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do. Please, Steve,” you begged, your own fingers circling back at the head of your clit, swirling in the drench of your juices at your core and still, it wasn’t enough. It won’t ever be enough. You needed thick veins and a pulsing heartbeat, rushed thrusts, hands digging to your hips, and the labored pants of a man above you.

Youneeded _him._

“You don’t want this,” Steve argued, determined, though you could see the pollen starting to take its effect. His pupils were blown wide, sweat dripping at the nape of his neck though he tried to brush it away. His legs were trembling.

“The pollen is only enhancing desires that already exist,” you urged, breathy and in gasps as your fingers worked tiredly at your clit and still— _nothing._ In your haze, you didn’t notice how Steve’s eyes widened at your confession. He stared at you for just a moment longer before he shook the thought from his mind, unwilling to let himself go there.

“Steve, I’m begging you. I gonna—I’m gonna die.”

“No, you’re not. I won’t let that happen.”

He could feel the pollen starting to take it’s hold in his own body and the longer he looked at you, exposed and ready for him, dripping, the sweet smell of your cunt filtering in the air, the closer he came to the losing edge of control.

The serum kept it at bay for a while, but he could feel his cock aching painfully hard under layers of Kevlar. The fabric rubbed against it, creating an almost burning sensation, and he understood why you were so desperate to rid yourself of your clothes.

 _Jesus_ – it was a miracle he kept it together as long as he did. He could still feel the squeeze of your pussy on his fingers; the heat, the wetness, the softest most vulnerable parts of you. His hand was sticky in your slick as he clenched his fist, nails digging painfully to his palms.

“Steve, it’s starting to affect you, too.”

He shook his head. “I can deal with it. I’ll handle it on my own.”

“You can’t, Steve. It won’t be enough.”

“It has to be!” he snapped, harsher than he meant to, but the pollen was pushing him towards an edge he wasn’t certain he’d ever come back from. “I can’t– I _won’t l_ et that fucking chemical turn me into a monster!”

Steve groaned, raking his fingers through sweat damped hair and ridding himself of the shield and weapons strapped to his suit. He was panting long before he started shouldering the vault doors again, desperate to lodge his way through.

You closed your eyes, tears slipping past your temples as you laid on the metal table. Shaking, dripping at your core, aching. Your fingers doing nothing to relieve the painful, empty feeling left in Steve’s wake. Chills swept up your spine, like a fever, and you stared up at the ceiling, watching as the tiles swayed over one another, melting and twisting into a blur of grey cement as you listened to Steve’s labored breaths, the grunts in anguish, as he tried to break out of the vault.

But suddenly, it came to a stop.

A heavy exhale. A pained groan. And then—

“How certain are you?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, vision blurring, dizzy, but you could still see how desperately Steve was trying to hold himself back. His arousal was thick and prominent against his thigh, a wet spot growing at the head, as he rubbed himself through the outside of his pants.

“Y/n,” he asked again, tenser, strained. “How certain are you that it’s only enhancing existing desires?”

“ _Certain,_ ” you choked out. “I’ve wanted you for a long time, Steve. Since Coney Island.”

Steve gritted his teeth, and you could tell there was a part of him that lingered, wanting to know more, wanting to say something meaningful in return, but the pollen had taken a hold of him and he wasn’t the one in control anymore.

“I can’t hold back.”

You shook your head, heart racing in anticipation. “You don’t have to.”

“You don’t understand, Y/n,” Steve groaned, sliding his hand under his belt in search of some relief, unabashedly stroking himself in full view as his pants circled around his ankles. “I can feel this shit taking over and— I won’t be able to— I _can’t_ hold myself back. Do you understand?”

He took a step closer to you, pulling his jacket off as well until he was naked before you. He paused at the edge of the table, hesitant for a moment, before slowly, he set his hands on the tops of your thighs. You moaned at the sensation, arching up for him, though he didn’t touch you where you needed him most. Instead, he let his hands travel along your legs, sliding all the way down to your ankles before he yanked hard enough to pull your body right to the edge.

You met him with a gasp, hands landing on his chest as you looked up to darkened eyes.

“It’ll be rough,” he gritted out.

You were panting, heart stammering. “I can take rough.”

“I might hurt you.”

“So hurt me, Captain,” you begged, voice low, hands snaking up around his neck.

“Say it again. Tell me you want this. I need to hear it,” he demanded, darker than you’d ever heard him, and still, there was a soft kind of pale blue in his eyes; a lingering piece of that tender, hesitant man you knew who kept his distance, who flirted and teased with shades of pink in his ears. He practically growled as his fingers dug deeper into your thighs.

“I want this,” you said firmly, your left hand raking through his hair, your right slipping down his stomach until you reached his cock. Circling your grip around his shaft, you slowly began to pump him and spread the precum down the throbbing vein underneath. His breath caught in his throat, eyes fluttering closed as he sucked in a harsh breath.

“I want _you,_ Steve,” you whispered against his neck, your lips pressing a kiss to his pulse point before you licked a stripe along his jawline, up to his mouth, where you paused. You caught his eyes for a moment, laced in lust and thick in desire, and you mewled against his lips, “fuck me, Steve. _Use_ me. I’m yours.”

It was hard to tell what was the pollen and what was inherently you, but when it was Steve standing in front of you, _his_ erection sliding at your folds, _his_ eyes gazing hungrily into yours, you couldn’t find it in you to care where the words came from. They were real desires, a real longing, a real desperation you carried deep inside you, hidden under lock and key, and the vial shattered in the back of the room only released them from their cage.

Suddenly, Steve yanked you from the table, spun you around, and held you firmly against him, his breath like fire against your neck. Your back was only kept pressed up against his chest for a moment before he pushed you flush onto the table. The cold of the metal ice against your skin, your cheek pressed onto the surface as he kept you still with a hand on the mid of your back. Your toes barely touched the ground, but Steve had a good hold on your hips with his free hand.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, his hand on your back nestling along your spine, pressing like the keys of a piano. You shuddered under him, trying to squeeze your thighs together but he kept them propped open. “Be a good girl for me, won’t you, baby? Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” Your hands gripped onto the edges of the table, your toes lifting off the ground.

“Gonna let me take what I want from you? Gonna let me use your body how I want? Fuck your tight little cunt? My sweet girl…”

“Yes,” you whimpered, shaking, as the painful aching between your legs grew stronger. “All for you. Just you. Steve… _please_ …”

Steve’s hand gripped to your hips, painful enough to leave bruises but your whole body was stripped to the bare edges, sensitive unlike you’d ever been in your life, and the divots he dug were sweet relief. You ached for more. Whatever he would give you.

You felt the tip of Steve’s cock edging at your entrance and you let out a desperate whine. You tried arched up for him as much as the position would allow, even with Steve’s hand keeping your upper body flattened on the table as he came up to you from behind.

He slid into you with ease, bottoming out in one harsh thrust that nearly jolted the entire table. You gasped, holding onto the surface, reveling in the ache of the stretch, how thick he was pressing you open, stretching you.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Steve grunted, adjusting his grip on your hip. He pulled out, just to the tip, slowly, agonizingly, before he slid back in with a shuddered breath. “So fuckin’ good, baby. Your cunt’s fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart. _Shit._ ”

You’d never heard Steve curse like that. It was foreign in his voice, but God, it was like pure sin. Pieces of him he kept hidden, desires he wouldn’t dare allow to the surface broken free by the pollen littering the air and seeping deep into his veins. A man without boundaries or confinements. A man unleashed.

“Fuck, yes, Steve,” you moaned, gripping so tightly at the edges of the table, you wondered if you might be strong enough to crack it. “God, Steve, don’t stop! Just like that—Just like— _ah, fuck_ —”

He was relentless. Rushed. Desperate. Quick and harsh thrusts of his hips snapping against your ass, his cock throbbing and dragging against clenched walls, spurring on that twist deep in your stomach, bringing you closer and closer to release, to relief.

The noises he made only urged you on, filling the room with cries and screams, his name and yours, uncontained, unfiltered. Through the gasps in his breath, through your name exhaled low in his voice, he muttered praises and curses, his grip tightening, your skin burning against the metal surface with every drag of your body. It was a rush, a high, every thrust, every bruise he pressed into your skin, every inch closer to the peak that left you screaming his name over and over again until finally—

The ground fell out from under you, mountains crashing down, and you cried out through the free fall; impossibly sensitive, withering and desperate to hold on as he chased his own release, prolonging the longest, most intense orgasm you’d ever had, one that left you in near tears, until he came into you, releasing against your walls.

There was a moment of relief, of a comforting stillness. The labored pants of your breaths filling the room and the sticky sweet smell of sex overpowering the long faded scent of the pollen. The dizziness cleared from your mind, the high of the orgasm pulling you fully back to your senses, and you were shocked to find how cold the room had become.

And then the silence started to carry an unease within it.

Steve’s hand released its grip on your hips, on your back, unpeeling away from skin he’d colored under his touch and you tried not to wince at the sting of it because you knew he was watching you. Then, he pulled his softened cock from inside you, slipping out slowly and leaving behind a kind of emptiness that pierced straight through to your chest.

With the desperation gone, the heat of the pollen absent from your veins and a chill in your spine, you turned to find Steve, hoping for something as tender and sweet as the man you knew to offset the bruising on your body and the new kind of ache between your legs; pains you eagerly agreed to and even in your clearest thoughts knew with certainty you had wanted. Still, there was a need for more, something of the man you know Steve to be.

“Steve?”

He was scrambling to put his suit back on. Hands fumbling with his pants until he covered himself, then, quickly began to search around the room. Shaking hands yanked open drawers, throwing around papers and supplies until they covered the floor.

“Steve, hold on a moment…”

“I don’t– I don’t have anything for you to–” he exhaled harshly, rubbing at his eyes and you realized what he meant. The sticky residue between your legs, his release and yours. He swallowed thickly, and it didn’t slip your notice that he couldn’t meet your eye. “Just– just give me a second. I’ll– uh—I’ll find something.”

“Stevie, it’s okay,” you tried to tell him, but he couldn’t hear you.

You bent down and grabbed your suit from the floor, stepping into it as his cum had dried along your thighs. You could wash it away later. There was no concern for pregnancy. SHIELD provided all agents with standard birth control. Steve should know that and he should know that Sam would still be waiting on them in the jet, concerned that the coms hadn’t been working for the time you and Steve were trapped down there.

You crossed the room, coming up behind Steve and placing a hand on his bare shoulder. He flinched the moment your fingertips grazed his flushed skin and you pulled away, curling your hand to your chest. He turned to face you, but his eyes were focused on the floor by your feet. Even clothed, standing in front of him as the woman who had loved and adored him for years under the guise of friendship, he couldn’t bear to meet your eye.

A crack nestled in your chest, straight through your heart. God, you just wanted to hold him.

“Steve…”

The vault doors sprang open with a thunderous echo, a clear mist expelling from the ceiling.

A sudden darkness came over Steve’s features, the soft outline of his face turning hard as a growl brewed in his chest. He grabbed the gun from his waistband and bounded toward the exit. Without a moment of hesitation, he fired a single shot at the Hydra agent who had broken the vial of pollen in favor of killing either of you; still laying on the floor, barely even enough time to react to defend himself.

You gasped as a bullet lodged through the man’s head and he slumped over. Deep red pooling around him.

Steve stomped back into the vault, slipped the top of suit back over his head, ran his fingers through his hair to tame the mess. With his back turned to you, he paused.

“You have the vial we came for?” His voice was cold, detached, incredibly unlike the man you knew.

“Y-yes,” you replied, feeling for the small test tube securely placed in the container at your hip. You zipped up your suit to cover the exposed hills of your breasts; even with Steve’s back to you, it left you feeling exposed.

His back straightened, a short nod to himself, and he stepped over the body of the Hydra agent. Boots imprinting into the mess of blood, leaving a trail in their wake as he quickly made his way back to the jet.

You waited until the echoes of his steps disappeared down the hallway and you were left with a deeply unsettling silence. There, you allowed yourself to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Steve deal with the aftermath of the pollen

The more Steve thought about it, the more he wished that Hydra agent had just shot him. 

He could still feel the sensitivity pulsing in fluttering beats between his legs, forcing him to adjust his pants in search of relief. He could still smell the slight tang on his fingers, on his thighs; could feel the residue on his skin. His stomach was still twisted and warped and tied into knots as he struggled to keep still in his seat while he shot cautious glances back towards the loading dock, waiting for you to return. 

It took a few minutes after he’d started digging his nails into his palms until he heard the softened footsteps, head perking up as you appeared at the back of the jet. You slowly made your way up the ramp and pressed a hand to the retractor, signaling Sam you were ready for takeoff. You were silent as you passed the seat beside Steve, the one you usually occupied, the one closest to him, and took your place across the aisle. Legs crossed, leaning off the furthest edge of the seat. 

It was then Steve noticed the subtle reflective marks on your cheeks, a redness straining into the whites of your eyes, a sniffle in your nose as you brushed a hand over your face. You only nodded, jaw clenched, when Sam called back from the pilot seat in his usual light-hearted banter that he was approaching takeoff. You didn’t so much as a crack a smile. 

So yeah, Steve wished that agent had just shot him instead.

Hours later, after the jet touched back on solid ground and he’d put as much distance away from you as he could manage, Steve found himself standing under scalding hot water. It showered down over his back, his right hand propped up against the wall for support, wet hair and trails of water streaming down over his eyes. 

It burned. The steam itself was suffocating. The water only washing away the sweat beading on neck. But it was all he could do to rid that room from his body, the pollen from its talon-sunken holes clawed deep into the furthest corners of his mind. 

It wasn’t you he was trying to rid himself of. _Never_ you. 

No—it was the remnants of the violence etched into his skin, the devil in his desires, the monster in his movements. 

You couldn’t look at him. You’d tried to force it back in the vault, calling his name, making sure _he_ was alright even after what he’d done, but that was just who you were. Kind beyond what he deserved. Loving to a fault. He knew you were putting on a brave face, but you could hardly stand over wobbling legs.

So, he left. He gritted his teeth and gave you as much space as he possibly could, tried to spare you the grief of having to be in the same room, to breathe the same air, as the man who—

_Christ._

He couldn’t even say it. 

He stayed there, standing under scalding water, long after it lost its warmth, until it was so cold his skin had numbed and his teeth were chattering. 

Nothing seemed to be enough to rinse the monster from his body. He wondered then if he ever would, or if it was just a part of him now, if it was engrained deep into his soul, if maybe it had been lying in wait under the surface all his life, waiting for the right moment to be release and rip away the very thing he adored most in this world and – 

_Knock knock knock._

Steve froze at the edge of the bathroom. He looked down to find navy blue pajama pants and a thin t-shirt covering his body, the cotton a little damp from the shower. His hair was dripping onto the collar of his shirt, leaving small patches of darkened cloth behind. 

He blinked a few times, trying to pull himself back to his body. He glanced back at the shower. He didn’t even realize he’d turned it off, didn’t register when he’d gotten out and started to change. 

_Fuck._ He was losing it. 

He exhaled a heavy breath, starting to make his way back to the bed when the knocks came a second time. 

_Knock knock knock._

A little more urgent this time. A slight shift in the floorboards outside his room. A nervous kind of energy. 

Steve swallowed, slicking back his damp hair and slowly padded his way over to the door. 

But then, the sweet scent of coco butter caught his sense and he stilled. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest, thunderous, like it might burst through the surface and fall broken and battered to the floor at his feet. 

He was stone. A statue. A breath of wind could have knocked him over. 

“Steve?” your voice called gently, muffled by the door between you. 

He couldn’t speak. He could only stare at the small cracks in the wooden frame, the broken splinters from where he’d nearly ripped the door from its hinges the night he heard you scream through the night terrors plaguing your dreams. Tony always offered to replace it but Steve wouldn’t let him. The small broken fragments made it easier to listen for you. 

“I know you’re in there,” you murmured. A soft tap followed and he could practically picture you setting your foreword to the wooden frame. “Please, just talk to me.”

A crack in your voice. A lump in your throat. You’d been crying again. 

“Stevie, please… don’t shut me out,” you whispered, voice barely audible but it tore through Steve’s chest like you’d screamed it. Your hands dragged along the door until they stilled on the knob. It was unlocked. It always was. A habit he’d come to find after you’d started showing up in his room late at night when you couldn’t sleep. 

But the door didn’t open this time. You didn’t peer your head in cautiously, fingers grazing on the edge of the frame. You didn’t call his name sweetly with that nervous smile on your lips. No—you waited. Waited for him to open the door himself. 

And still, he couldn’t move.

He hated himself for it. 

It wasn’t until he listened for the deflated, broken sigh as the floorboards squeaked gently beneath your bare feet, your hand falling away from the door as you started to leave, that Steve finally found the courage to move. 

He was at the door in two steps, hand on the knob and swung it open. You flinched in your surprise and Steve instantly stepped back, made himself as small as he could manage. The last thing he wanted was to scare you. It was the only time he’d ever wished to rid the serum from his veins; make him the scrawny, unintimidating boy he was before the war. 

He didn’t know what to say as he stared at you. Your hair was damp like his, arms folded over your chest, holding the edges of your robe securely over your body and while it could have easily been because of the chill of the air conditioning in the hallway, Steve took another step back, certain you were hiding yourself from him.

His eyes fell to the ground.

“Can we talk?” you asked sheepishly.

Steve nodded, stepping aside. 

You slipped past him and made your way to his bed, though you paused before you sat down. It was familiar, a habit, for you to rush into his room and plop onto his bed with handfuls of popcorn and M&M’s and watch movies for hours on end. But things were different now. You clung tighter to your robe.

“You can sit. If you… um… if you want, I mean,” Steve said awkwardly, his voice broken from disuse. He wasn’t used to feeling so on edge around you and it left behind a sour taste in his mouth. He cleared his throat as he sat on the edge of the bed, giving you as much space as he could.

You nodded, offering him a short smile. You tucked one leg under you, the other hanging off the side of the bed as you turned to face him. Steve could feel you watching him, though he was determined to keep his focus on the bristles of carpet under his feet. 

“Steve, I—”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words falling past his lips before he could quite gain control of them. His jaw ached from how tight he’d been clenching his, his hands restless from pulling and twisting at his fingers until the skin was red and raw. 

He didn’t notice the surprise on your face, not though the tears brimming in his eyes. He didn’t notice as you crept closer to him along the bed, gently calling his name, couldn’t hear as you called for him so sweetly it ached and bled. 

“I’m _so_ sorry, Y/n,” Steve cried, pushing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I never—I _never_ should have given in to that stuff and now—now you can’t even look at me and I feel so fucking selfish because _that’s_ what scares me more than anything else. _More_ than what I did in that room. The fact that I might have just lost you because of it and I— _fuck_ —I _can’t_ lose you because I’ll go out of my goddamn mind. I can’t.”

“Steve,” you called again gently, trying to interject, but he was too far into his own spiral of guilt and self-loathing to hear you. 

“I hate that this happened and I hate that I did this to us and I—I hate that everything is in fucking pieces right now and I don’t know how to make this right, or if I ever can, and—and I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness but—”

“Steve!”

Your hands were on the sides of his face, a firm hold of stubble along his jaw rubbing against the inside of your palms, wide blue eyes staring back at you in shock. Glossy in color, reflective marks of tears on his cheekbones, touching against your fingers. All he could focus on was the startling warmth in your hands, the tenderness in which you held him as you forced his gaze to you, and he choked back a sob brewing up the base of his spine. 

“Oh, honey. All this guilt you carry… it must be so exhausting,” you sighed, gently wiping the tears under his eyes. There was an ache in your voice, a love, that ripped straight through his chest. You smiled for him, something so soft, barely lifting at the corners of your mouth, but it was enough. “I was there with you, remember? You asked for my consent a dozen times. I said yes. You warned me it would be rough. I still said yes. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Steve was unconvinced. He remembered how tightly he’d gripped your hip, how he left bruises behind and how your skin was scraped and burned as it rubbed against the table. He remembered how he’d pushed you down, a hand firm on your back, how he’d _used you_ for his own pleasure and lost a part of himself in the chase. 

You must have seen his mind wandering because you settled in closer to him, releasing your hold on his face, though your hands never traveled far. Instead, they ran gently down along his arms until they landed on his hands. Fingers curling under his palms, tugging them to your lap as you carefully traced the lines in his skin, over old scars and the lifeline running in an elongated arc to the center of his wrist. 

“You’re a good man, Steve,” you said, still staring down at his hands. “Most men… they wouldn’t have held off as long as you did. Wouldn’t have asked permission, either. You forget that I know what the effects of the pollen feel like, too, Steve. I was _begging_ you. God, I felt like I was going to die if you didn’t do what you did. So, if you’re going to sitting here and blame yourself for what happened, then you better blame me, too.”

Now that, he didn’t see coming. 

You were smiling at him when he dared to meet your eye again, though there was a sadness there. You squeezed his hands, slowly bringing them up to your lips and pressing a gentle kiss along the knuckles. He watched you in awe, heart stammering, and he did his best to memorize the feel of your lips on his skin. 

It took Steve a minute to respond, too focused on how warm your hands were around his. The two of you were close, yes, but you’d never done anything like this before. Even in the nights when you crawled into his bed, there was space between you. Always teetering on the edge of something more and never daring to cross the line. 

Until the line was ripped to shreds and tossed to the gutter. 

The goddamn line didn’t even exist anymore. 

“You alright?” you asked sweetly, because of course you were worried about him. You always were. 

When he didn’t respond, you released his hands, letting him pull them back into his own lap, and a chill started to prickle at his skin. Cold, in your absence. He was always cold when you weren’t there. 

It used to be enough to be near you, to be close enough to smell the coco butter lotion on your skin and see the faint discoloration on scars from past missions. It wasn’t enough anymore. 

Steve took in a heavy breath, trying to find the right words. “It just… It shouldn’t have been like that.“

You narrowed your eyes, confused. 

“Our first time. It shouldn’t have been like that,” Steve admitted, digging his nails to his palm. When he looked up at you again, you were staring at him with wide eyes, lips slightly parted, shocked. He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I had this whole plan, you know?”

You shook your head, just barely, but enough. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I… uh… I’ve been making reservations at this fancy restaurant downtown… the one Stark won’t shut up about. Been doing that every Friday night for the past two months. Just in case I worked up the courage to finally ask you on a date. A _real_ date.”

The words were spilling out faster than he could hold them back, but there was a relief in it, a waterfall in the admission that swept through the tension in his muscles and drew away the unsettling ache in his bones. 

“I think about it a lot. I think about how we’d talk all night, like we always do,” he continued, in an almost dream like voice, “but there would be expensive wine. Red, I think. We’d order two bottles and earn some angry looks from the other tables because we’d be laughing too loud. We’d eat something good. Something recommended by the chef. I’d pay—”

“–with Stark’s card?”

Steve paused, turning to find you smiling at him, _genuinely_ smiling. Enough to bite down on your bottom lip to try and suppress it, though it did no use. It pushed lines up by your eyes, a glow in the way you watched him, and suddenly, his whole chest was warm. He nodded. 

“Of course,” he chuckled, surprised how easily it came. “Always on Tony’s dime.”

You laughed, and he was certain it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. 

“Then what?”

“I’d walk you through Brooklyn. Show you all the places I grew up. Probably stop by an ice cream joint because the portion sizes at expensive restaurants are pitiful,” Steve said, grinning as you struggled to contain your laughter, your shoulder bumping into his. He sighed, watching you for a moment, before he let himself say the words he’d been trying to say for years. 

“At the end of the night, I’d—” he paused, stealing a quick glance at you before he found his remaining courage. He exhaled a heavy breath and admitted, “I’d tell you I’ve been head over heels for you for as long as I can remember. I’d tell you that you’re my best friend but I… I want you to be more. And I’d tell you I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

You froze, smile faltering for just a moment, stunned. “You would?”

He nodded, his cheeks burning a little pink, but he didn’t mind. “Then, when we got back, I’d walk you back to your room, be a proper gentleman about it and, if you’d let me, I’d kiss you. Something short. Something a little chaste. Because I wouldn’t want to push things too fast and risk messin’ this thing up because… this is it for me. _You’re_ it for me.”

Steve had never seen you rendered to a stunned silence quite like that before. He was used to fighting for a word in because you always had something to say about everything. He liked when you rambled and lost yourself on long tangents, wondering how you got from the missing Thin Mints in the freezer to the state of Greece’s economy. He found it endearing, but for once, he had a moment to talk. So, he took advantage of it. 

“We’d go on a few dates,” he continued, with a soft smile, a casual shrug, like he hadn’t been thinking about it for years. “I’d hold your hand in public. Bite the head off of any reporter that asked too many questions, but I’d want people to know that I was yours, so I wouldn’t be shy about it. I’d wrap an arm around you on the couch on movie nights and wouldn’t care when Sam teases me about it because you’d be in my arms and that’s all that would matter.”

Steve swallowed, his heart beating a little faster. “And then, only when the time was right, when we’d found a trust that extended beyond the missions and the Avengers, I’d linger a little longer by our hallway before I said goodnight. You’d do that thing where you bite your lip because I know you’re waiting for me to make the first move, and I’d ask if you wanted to stay the night.”

"And if I said yes?” you asked quietly, inching just a little closer to him, enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin against his thigh. 

“I’d kiss you in the doorway,” Steve exhaled a heavy breath, picturing it in his mind the way he had dozens of times before. “Something slower, enough to leave you feeling breathless. I’d kiss you enough to memorize the taste of you on my tongue, slip my hands into your hair and drag my fingers over your scalp. I wouldn’t pull away until I felt you whimper against my lips.”

When he glanced up at you, your eyes were near black, pupils dilated enough for the colors of your iris to be left in thin rims at the furthest edges. You swallowed, lips slightly parted, a dangerous kind of look about you. 

“Show me.”

Steve swallowed, staring at your lips, how you tugged them between your teeth in anticipation. He exhaled a steady breath, searching your eyes for resistance, and when he found none, he let his hand slip up along your arm and nestle into your hair. You shivered under his touch, chest rising a little faster, as he slowly leaned towards you. 

He paused, nails tenderly massaging at your scalp, just enough until he caught the flicker of lust woven through the startling colors in your eyes. Then, with more courage than he’s had in a long time, Steve met his lips to yours. 

Slow. Wet. Starting at your lower lip, pulling it between his own and sucking sweetly. Then, a flicker of his tongue along the lines of your mouth, waiting patiently, and you parted your lips a little further for him. He swept his tongue along yours as he kissed at your upper lip. Sighing into the touch, the muffled sound of a whimper escaped and Steve smiled against your mouth. 

“Then what?” you gasped, a little out of breath as Steve began to kiss along your cheekbones, your jawline, then to the sensitive parts on your collar. 

“I’d lay you down on my bed,” he whispered against your skin, warm to the touch. You leaned back to the pillows, pulling your legs up onto the bed as Steve followed in suit. He laid beside you, a leg between yours, his lips never once leaving your body. 

“Then,” he continued, pulling back for only a moment, though your huff of disappointment didn’t slip his notice. He chuckled as he crossed his arms at his waist and pulled his shirt up and over his head. “I’d start getting rid of the fabric between us.”

Steve paused, eyeing you, waiting for permission, and you nodded at him. A smile lifted at his cheeks as he crawled back down over you, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. His lips trailed along the bone, until he met the cozy fluff of your robe. He inched it off your shoulder, kissing at the skin between. 

“I’d take off your clothes, but I’d do it slowly because I’ve already waited so long and what’s another few minutes when I can have you whining and needy by the time I’m done,” Steve teased, unwrapping the belt at your waist and letting the fabric fall open. 

You giggled under him, muffling the sound against his shoulder. Underneath, you were dressed only in a tank top and panties; so thin he could see your pebbled nipples through the thin fabric. 

“Keep going,” you sighed, arcing up for him as his eyes lingered just a little longer on your chest. 

Steve nodded, pinching up at the ends of your tank with his thumbs, slowly bunching up the fabric towards your ribs. He leaned down and pressed his lips to your stomach, touching over curves and edges, over scars and freckles, discovering the most beautiful pieces of you he could find. 

“I’d kiss every inch of you,” he exhaled, pushing the fabric up further as his lips made their way to your ribs. Then, over your breasts as you helped him discard the top over your head and toss it to the floor. Steve sighed, staring in awe. “I’d have to take a minute when I finally saw you because you’d be more beautiful than I ever pictured in my head. You’d laugh because you wouldn’t believe me and you’d try to cover yourself–” he raised an eyebrow as your arms moved to shield yourself from his staring eyes though you froze when you realized what he said, “– like that.” 

Steve chuckled, waiting for you to relax your arms back to your sides. “But I’d be determined and I’ll want to make sure you know how serious I am. So, I’d take my time with you, kiss you everywhere but where you need me most, even when I feel you searching for friction at my thigh between your legs.”

You paused, not even realizing you were trying to rub yourself on his leg, but Steve was smiling so wide, you couldn’t help but return it. There was no room for embarrassment, not with no much love in his eyes. 

Steve lowered himself to your breasts, the heated flush of his breath touching your skin. Then, his tongue dipped to your nipple, circling the bud for a moment before he pulled it onto his mouth, sucking sweetly enough to pull a whine from your lips. 

“Oh, Steve,” you moaned, hands sinking into his hair, guiding him, arching up into him. His hand worked at the other breast, kneading and brushing his thumb over the sensitive bud. He didn’t let up until you whined, “Stevie, please. I need you.”

He pulled back, a teasing smirk on his face as he glanced down your bodies to find your panties wet at the center, damp to the navy plaid pajamas on his thigh where you’d been rubbing yourself. He could smell the sweet, tangy scent of the wetness between you and he licked his lips.

“Not this time,” you urged. “I need you, Steve. Please.”

“You’re skipping steps in my plan, sweetheart,” Steve smirked. “I didn’t tell you yet about how I was going to kiss along your thigh, just up to the crease of your leg, kissing at your folds until I dipped my fingers between them and touched the wetness there, parted you enough that I could run my tongue along your slit.”

You shivered; lips parted in a breathless gasp. Steve winked, hooking his fingers in the band of your panties, pausing until you rolled your hips up for him, and slid them down your legs. 

“I would have slid my tongue into the deepest part of you, tasted you,” he continued, a dark kind of sin in his voice that swept up your spine as he pulled down his pants, freeing himself from the fabric and letting his cock stand out against him, press up against your thighs. “I would have wrapped my lips around your clit as I slipped two fingers inside of you, three if you were ready enough. I would have sucked and kissed and licked at your clit as I pumped my fingers into you, waited until I felt your walls clenching around me, until you were digging your hands through my hair and became a withering, moaning mess. I wouldn’t stop until you cried out my name, and maybe not even then. I’d make you come at least twice before I even pulled my cock from my pants.”

You whined, jaw clenched, hands running along his chest. His cock edged at your entrance; thick, full, aching in its pulse and the pre-cum dripping at the tip. 

“Steve?” you finally managed to mutter, wrecked. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You took a heavy breath, eyes darkening over. “Stop talking, will you?” 

Steve grinned.

Then, he sank into you. 

The stretch was unlike anything else; the pulse of it against your walls tighter than you’d been within Hydra’s vault, the absence of the pollen in your system giving way to a whole new kind of high. No longer overwhelmed by the lust and cravings and sensations buried deep inside you, but instead, memorizing the slight ache between your legs, the feelings of the thick vein that rang down the underside of his shaft as it pressed up against this glorious sweet spot at your opening, the touch of his breath warm and moist to your skin, the low hums and moans of a man you adored. 

“Oh God… Steve…” you whined, knees lifting higher in search of that perfect angle that brought him deeper inside you. He choked back a groan, muffled in the crook of your neck. 

His hands encased around your shoulders, hips slowly beginning to rut further inside of you before he slipped out, just to the tip. Filling you, stretching you, sinking into where he belonged. 

“Fuck– sweetheart, I—” Steve let out a growl, his right hand running up along your curves to find your breasts, fingers pinching and teasing over hardened nipples. “You feel so good, baby. So fuckin’ good.”

Your hands raked along his spine, nails digging just enough into the skin to pull a hiss from his lips before he started kissing along your neck, your jawline, hips picking up in pace. Steve slid his hand down the edge of your curves, over your stomach and between your legs where your bodies met. The pads of his fingertips dipped to your core, swirled over the drench of wetness there before they carried just a bit higher to your clit. 

You gasped, clenching around his cock as his trusts began a little less gentle a little more desperate; the cry of the bedsprings and the labored breaths between you filling the room, joining the salty tang of sex in the air. Steve grinned against the crook of your neck, kissing at the dip in your collarbone sweetly in startling contrast to the rough snap of his hips. He circled at the bundle of nerves at your core, bringing you closer to your release as your walls started to cave in around him. 

“Don’t– Don’t stop,” you gasped, the coil at your core tightening and drawing to the edge, “oh fuck, Steve!”

Muffled cries into his shoulder, Steve kept up his pace, not relenting for a beat as you rode out the peak of your high. Nails digging into his back, dipped into his shoulder blades as you bit on the edge of his collar. His hips started to lose their rhythm, his breaths heavy and labored, moans slipping from his lips as the haze began to leave you and you pressed kisses to the lining of his jaw, whispering, “that’s it, Stevie. Come for me, honey.”

He nodded, hot breaths to your skin, and with a strangled cry, he released into you, filling you whole, before he chased a few more thrusts and stilled. His body fell to your chest, sinking you into the mattress as he rested his head against your heart. Arms circling up and under your shoulders, curling you in close to him, you could feel his smile curving up against your skin. 

You grinned up at the ceiling, a laugh bubbling in your chest as your fingers started to rake gently through his hair, combing through the beads of sweat left behind on his forehead. He sighed at the feeling, eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his lips to the hill of your breast before settling in. 

“I should get up,” he mumbled, though he made to effort to move. 

“I like you where you are,” you replied cheekily, squeezing your walls around his softening cock and laughing when you felt him jolt against you at the shock of it. 

“Watch yourself,” Steve warned lightheartedly. “You’ll work me up again.”

“Maybe that’s the plan.”

Steve lifted his head from your chest, catching your eye for just a moment, and the smile on his face nearly captured the air entirely from your lungs. Impossibly sweet. Gentle. Loving in a way you never thought you’d see nestled in the pale blue of his eyes. He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. 

“We missed a lot of steps, didn’t we?” Steve sighed, his smile softening to something sadder, like something precious had been taken from him. The first date. The first kiss. The nervous parts in between. He wanted them all. 

“Doesn’t mean we can’t go back and start again,” you grinned, cupping the side of his face as you pulled him back to your lips, kissing him until you could feel him start to smile again. 

You started to edge him off of you, slipping out from under his weight as he protested in a whine. He rolled onto his back, sheet draped over his lower half, elbows propping him up against the pillows as the sunlight peaking in between the curtains cast of his skin. Warm and inviting. Soft. 

You leaned against the bathroom arc, just admiring him for a moment before you said, “be ready by seven tonight.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, raising a brow, though the smile on his lips was still as dreamy, still caught up you. “Why?”

“We’ve got a first date, Steven,” you winked before disappearing into the bathroom. “Don’t be late.”


End file.
